


All the Birds are Singing that You're Gonna Die

by ProbablyVoldemort



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Bad Luck, Car Accident - Mention, Everybody Lives, F/M, Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2019-04-19 03:53:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14228670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProbablyVoldemort/pseuds/ProbablyVoldemort
Summary: Fred's bad day just kept getting worse





	All the Birds are Singing that You're Gonna Die

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So this is my first time writing Fred and Hermione and also my first time writing Harry Potter fanfiction in general, so please go easy on me. And I also haven't read or watched any Harry Potter in a while, so don't judge me too hard.
> 
> This is based off this prompt from an anonymous prompter on Tumblr: Person A keeps seeing signs that something bad is going to happen today and no one believes them but Person B humours them and they try to stop the bad thing from happening but then it happens anyway
> 
> So this is a no magic AU because I'm too tired to try to figure out how to work magic into this prompt so everybody's a muggle.
> 
> Title is from Brand New Day from Dr. Horrible which has been stuck in my head all day for some reason.  
> Enjoy!

When Fred woke up, he wasn’t expecting his day to go as horribly as it did.

It didn’t start out bad.  He stumbled out of bed after George had already left for the day, and was pleasantly surprised to find toaster waffles still in the box.  Of course, they were his toaster waffles, so they should have been there anyway, but George had a habit of forgetting to buy his own groceries.

He threw a couple into the toaster and started the coffee as he checked his phone.  He had a few texts from his mum, wanting to know if he was bringing anyone to dinner this Sunday and did he know who Charlie was seeing?  Ron wanted to know if he was joining them for lunch, and George thought he might have forgotten to start the dishwasher (he had).

Fred fired off a few replies as his breakfast finished, and sent a cat meme to Hermione.  He had a folder of them saved on his phone, but only sent her a couple a day.  Had to keep up his facade of being cool.  Hermione messaged back with an eye roll emoji and asked if he was coming to Ron’s for lunch.

He grinned down at his phone as he typed out the affirmative, because, yes, obviously he was going to Ron’s for lunch, especially now that Hermione was apparently invested in whether he was there or not, and scarfed down the rest of his breakfast.

His day only seemed to be getting better.  His favourite shirt (Hermione had complimented it once two years ago) was in the clean pile of laundry on his floor.  His hair decided to cooperate and not stick up at weird angles.  The sun was shining, the birds were chirping, and the cat from next door hadn’t left any unwanted presents on the front step.

All in all, everything was looking good.

Until a passing car sprayed a mud puddle all over him.

And then a bird shit on his head.

Fred shook it off.  He was too far from home to turn back and still make it in time for lunch, so he’d just have to go covered in mud and bird shit if he wanted to make it.  Hermione had known him when he was in middle school.  She’d definitely seen him looking worse.  And he could steal Wood’s hat once he made it.

A black cat crossed in front of him at the next intersection, and he really should have taken it as the sign it was and changed his path since he narrowly avoided being hit by a falling plant pot as he passed the next apartment building. 

The closer he got to Ron’s, the worse his luck seemed to get.  He got his shoe stuck on a piece of broken sidewalk, causing him to trip and rip half the sole off.  The only way around a patch of construction was to walk under the ladder.  A door to a shop opened right in front of him, smacking him across the face.

By the time he actually made it to the front door of the diner, he was starting to believe the universe didn’t want him to leave his apartment.

“Holy shit,” Lee called from across Ron’s diner, the bell on the door having announced his arrival.  “What happened to you?”

Fred caught his reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall near the door and grimaced in agreement.

Which was when a gust of wind picked up, slamming the door shut hard enough that the mirror fell off the wall, smashing to pieces on the floor.

Fred sighed, crossing the diner without incident and flopping into the booth next to Ginny.  “I think I’m cursed,” he admitted, and his friends laughed.

“You mean you don’t normally have bird shit in your hair?” Ginny asked, smirking at him over her milkshake.  “I couldn’t even tell.”

Fred shoved her and rolled his eyes.  “I’m serious,” he said.  “I’m pretty sure I pissed off some witch or something and they cursed me.”

“I think you’re probably just having a bad day,” Harry pointed out, half a pancake hanging out of his mouth.  “It happens.”

“This is not just a bad day,” Fred insisted, waving at Ron as he came out from the back.  “This is, like, the worst day in the history of bad days.  I’m cursed.”

“I think you might be exaggerating,” Wood pointed out.  “Just a little.”

Fred shook his head, spraying bird shit and mud everyone, if everyone’s complaints were anything to go off, and took the mug of coffee Ron offered as he came by the table.

“You stink,” his brother kindly pointed out.  “What the hell is all over you?”

“Mud and bird shit,” Fred sighed, frowning into his coffee.  “I’m cursed.”

Which, obviously, was a cue for the handle to break off his mug, shattered porcelain and coffee spreading to cover the table.

Fred groaned, and started piling napkins onto the mess.  “See?”

They managed to get the coffee cleaned up, and Ron had delivered a new mug, by the time the bell rang again.

“Hermione!” Ginny called, waving her over as though they weren’t the only table of people under sixty.

“Shit!” Fred hissed, glancing around.  He ripped the beanie off Wood’s head and shoved it on his own, lamenting the fact that he couldn’t do anything for the rest of his clothes, which now had coffee added to the mess.

“Hey,” Hermione said, coming up to the booth.  “Sorry I’m late.”

It was worth it, whatever the reason was, and not only because Hermione being late ensured she didn’t see him break a coffee mug like an idiot.

There she was, standing above him like a goddess, her hair tied up in a messy bun, and her eyes sparkling in the diner’s fluorescent lights, making jeans and a t-shirt look like she was ready for the red carpet.

“What happened to you?” she asked, squeezing into the booth next to him.  It was a tight fit, as the booth was really only meant to hold four, and there were eight of them now.  Not that Fred was complaining.

“I’m cursed,” he told her.

“You’re not cursed,” Lee said, returning from the bathroom and shoving Harry, Katie, and Wood down so he could fit back in their side of the booth.  He leaned across the table, as if he was telling Hermione a very important secret.  “He’s just an idiot.”

“I’m super cursed,” Fred insisted.  “There was the car with the mud, and the bird shit, and the cat, and the flower pot, and broken sidewalk, and the ladder, and the door, and the mirror, and the coffee.  That’s way too many things to not be a curse.”

Ron came back then, with two heaping plates of pancakes for Fred and Hermione.  “That’s a lot of things,” he allowed.  “But I’m pretty sure curses aren’t real.”

“And you haven’t even told us about most of them,” Angelina pointed out, squished between Ginny and the wall.  “So it’s definitely not a curse if you can’t even back up your points.”

Fred offered them all his middle finger and dug into his pancakes, launching into the story of his stupid day and how cursed he was.

Unfortunately, everyone still seemed reluctant to believe in his curse, even with all the proof.

Fred sighed as a large piece of pancake fell off his fork, sliding down his chest and leaving a trail of syrup in it’s wake.  “I’m telling you, it’s a curse.”

“I’m telling you, you’re full of it,” Wood shot back.

Fred rolled his eyes.  “Well, Hermione believes me,” he said, sticking his nose in the air with the confidence of a man who wasn’t covered in mud, bird shit, coffee, and syrup.  “Don’t you, Hermione?”

Hermione gave him a sympathetic smile and a napkin.  “I believe that you believe it,” she offered, and Fred decided that that was good enough.

“See?”

Harry waggled his eyebrows at Ginny, who elbowed Fred in the side.

“Hermione isn’t doing anything today,” she announced, emphasizing each word with another elbow.  “If she really believes you, she’ll help you break your fake curse.”

Hermione laughed.  “Sure.” She shrugged, and they were squished in tight enough that he could feel it.  “I don’t have anything better to do.  And we could grab dinner after, if it takes that long.  And maybe if you change.  You kind of smell.  No offence.”

Ginny kept elbowing him, and Fred was starting to think more and more that this sounded like a date.  An afternoon spent wandering around, trying to break his curse, followed by a dinner, just the two of them?  Fred wasn’t exactly an expert, but he was pretty sure he knew a date when he heard one, and, if Wood and Lee’s eyebrows were anything to go off, he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

“Sounds like a plan,” he said, and awkwardly maneuvered his arms to high five Hermione, because nobody ever said Fred Weasley had any game.

*********

It wasn’t long before they left the diner, since Ron said he was stinking away the customers, and they decided that their first stop would be Fred’s apartment so he could change and wash the bird shit out of his hair.

“Do you really think you’re cursed?” Hermione asked as they stepped outside.

Fred shrugged.  “I don’t know,” he admitted, adjusting the old backpack full of George’s clothes and sports equipment that had apparently been left at Lee’s.  “I just feel like these are all signs that something really bad is gonna happen today.”

The previously sunny sky had clouded over while they ate, and, with a flash of lightning, it opened up, drenching them both in seconds.

“You know,” Hermione said, pulling an umbrella from her purse, “you might be onto something.  We could just skip the curse breaking and dinner and hang out at your place, if you want?”

She opened the umbrella and offered it to him, as he was taller, and he held it over their heads.

“When did you get so smart?” he asked, hoping he managed to survive the walk back to his apartment.  Maybe once this day was over, he’d have run out of bad luck and be able to reschedule their dinner, and actually make it a date this time.  Not that hanging out at his apartment with Hermione wouldn’t also be fantastic, but actually going on a date with her?  He could only dream.

He was thankfully on the right side to shelter Hermione from all the mud and water that was being sprayed on him, no doubt due to his curse, and he listened as she went on about what they should watch on his Netflix once they got back to his apartment.

Fred was just thanking his luck that he managed to make it around a particularly deep puddle, when he heard a ripping noise, and then a splash.

“Fuck,” he muttered, handing the umbrella off to Hermione and dropping to his knees.  He pulled the remains of his ripped backpack off his back, trying to figure out how he was going to carry everything when the entire back had fallen off.  The mouthguard’s box had opened, and Fred was fairly certain George wasn’t going to want to use a mouthguard that had fallen into a mud puddle.

“This day sucks,” he told Hermione as she crouched to help.

“It’ll get better,” she promised, offering him a smile.  “We can make popcorn.”

They piled what they could onto what was left of the backpack, and Hermione had an unopened package of rubber bands in her purse, so they jimmied it all into a lumpy sort of package.  Fred shoved it under one arm and the football under the other, and resigned himself to no longer being under Hermione’s umbrella.

There wasn’t another incident until they were almost back to his building, which should have been enough for him to realize that something big was coming.

But, as it was, Fred was too busy watching out for bad things to notice until it was too late.

It was almost slow motion.  Hermione was out in front of him, laughing as she jumped from white line to white line on the crosswalk.  The truck came out of nowhere, ignoring the red light and barrelling through the intersection towards her.  The football and the bundle dropped from grasp as he ran, those few steps taking hours, and shoved her out of the way, just as the truck hit the crosswalk.

Hermione screaming his name was the last thing he heard before the world went black.

*********

Fred groaned at the bright light shining in his eyes.  Was he dead?  He was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to hurt this much when you were dead.

“Fred?  Freddie?  Are you waking up?”

Fred groaned again and moved his arm to shield his eyes, smacking himself across the face with something hard in the process.

“Am I dead?” he mumbled.  “Why’s it so bright?”

“George, turn off the light.  It’s blinding your brother.  And find a doctor while you’re at it.”

The light disappeared, and Fred moved his arm off his face, dully noting that the cast it was hidden in was probably what hit him in the face.

His mum was there, fretting over whether he had enough blankets, and his dad, and Hermione was over near the window, arms crossed over her chest and looking rather put off.

George came back in with a doctor before he could question anyone.

“I’m glad to see you’re finally awake,” the doctor said.  “I’m Dr. Andromeda Tonks, and I’ve been looking after you.  Can you answer some questions for me, Fred?”

 He nodded, and then answered question after question until he was pretty confident Dr. Tonks knew his entire life story.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, shining a bright light in his eyes.

Fred made a face.  “Everything hurts,” he said, and she nodded and promised to send a nurse in to up his morphine.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to check up on you again,” she said, and swept out of the room.

“What happened?” Fred asked, relaxing back into the pillow as much as he could.  According to the doctor, he had a broken arm, a broken leg, a few broken ribs, a possible concussion, and an insane amount of stitches.

“You were an idiot, that’s what,” Hermione snapped, and his eyes darted over to her.

“I mean, you’re probably right,” he admitted, frowning when she didn’t laugh.  “But what exactly did I do?”

“You got hit by a truck,” George said, flopping down across the end of the bed.  “Malfoy was near and caught it on camera and sent it to everybody.  It was pretty hardcore.”

Fred frowned further.  What was he doing to get hit by a truck?

A nurse came in then, and injected something into his IV before leaving again.

“How’d I get hit by a truck?” he wondered, thinking back to the day.  He’d met up with everyone for lunch at Ron’s, then he’d left with Hermione and it’d started raining, and then...nothing.

“It ran a red light,” Hermione said, pointedly not looking at him.  “We were in the crosswalk, and it was going to hit me, but you pushed me out of the way.”

Fred nodded.  “So I was being heroic,” he mused, “not idiotic.  That’s different.  So what I’m getting is you’re mad I saved you?”

“It’s not funny,” she snapped, her eyes finally meeting his.  “You could have gotten me out of the way without getting yourself almost killed in the process.”

His head was getting fuzzy, and so was everything else, which was probably the morpheme kicking in, but for some reason Fred found he couldn’t stop laughing.

His dad wanted to know if he wanted something to eat, and he asked for a cheeseburger through his laughter, not really caring whether his dad understood or not.  He was pretty sure George was recording him, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.  Everything was just so funny.

Hermione didn’t seem to think so, and she stopped looking at him again, which meant Fred couldn’t see her eyes.  Her eyes were very pretty, and he really liked looking at them, so you could see how this was a problem.

His laughter died down after a bit, and he was pretty sure the bed had disappeared and that he was just floating there.  No one else seemed to care if he was floating.  His mum seemed more concerned if he had enough pillows, which didn’t even make sense when the bed wasn’t even there.

It seemed like it would be too much effort to point that out, so he put his energy towards something more important: trying to telepathically make Hermione look at him again.

“’Mione,” he whispered, quiet enough that he didn’t know what George was snickering about.  His telepaty skills still needed work, clearly, so a little verbal assistance wouldn’t hurt.  “’Mione, look at me.  Please.  Pleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepleasepl—”

“Fine!”  Hermione’s head snapped up, and she hit him with a watery glare.  “Happy now?”

Yes, he was very much happy now.  A dopey grin spread across his face as he watched her, standing there in the sunshine that was seeping through the window, her hair shining like a pretty cloud.

“Mum,” he said, the sounds slurring together despite the fact that he definitely wasn’t drunk.  “You need to leave, Mum.  George, make Mum leave.”

He couldn’t see his mum, but he heard her sigh.  “Fred—”

“No, Mum,” he interrupted.  This was important.  It was the most important thing in the whole world, and it couldn’t wait while he argued with his mum.  “I have to tell ’Mione a secret.  You gotta go, Mum.”

George laughed, even though this was definitely not funny and very serious, and told him they’d be in the hallway if he needed them.  Which he wouldn’t.  He was cool as a cucumber, and floating on a cloud.

The door clicked close, and Fred stared at Hermione for a long minute.

“Come here,” he said, waving his cast at her.  “Please.”

Hermione sighed, but made her way over, standing just out of his reach with her arms crossed.

Fred pouted.  “Why’re you mad at me?” he wondered, giving her his best puppy eyes.

“You could have _died_ , Fred,” she whispered, a tear streaking down her cheek.  “You almost did.  What were you thinking?”

“I didn’t,” he pointed out, even though he was pretty sure living people shouldn’t be floating.  The doctor said he was alive, so he probably was.  “And you’re okay, so that’s all that matters.”

Hermione huffed, and swiped at her eyes.  “I’m going to yell at you so much when you stop being high,” she promised, stepping closer to brush some hair out of his face.

Fred felt himself lean into her touch, a grin that probably looked ridiculous spreading across his face once more.  “Your hands are really soft,” he slurred, and Hermione gave a breathy laugh.

“Is that the secret?” she wondered.

“No.”  Fred shook his head, still staring at her face.  “You have pretty eyes.”

Hermione laughed again, and it was closer to her real laugh this time.  “You’re really high,” she pointed out, and Fred shrugged. 

Maybe that explained the floating.  If he was floating, he was probably high in the air.  It only made sense.  That didn’t mean Hermione’s eyes weren’t pretty, though.

“Well, they still are,” he declared.  “And your hair.  And your face.  And your ears.  And your brain.  And your fingers.  And your—”

“Do you have a point you’re trying to make?” Hermione interrupted, laughing, and Fred noted that the blush across her cheeks was also pretty.

“Yes,” he said, grinning at her.  “All of you is, like, the prettiest, and I love you.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open, and she stared at him, her face growing more and more red as the silence dragged on.

“You’re high, Fred,” she finally said, pulling her fingers back from where they rested on his cheek and taking a step back.

“I know,” he said, even though he didn’t, not really.  He was starting to think this was less of a floaty high and more of a drugs high, though, which made sense.  “That’s why I gotta say it.  I’m too nervous when I’m sober.”

Hermione laughed again, but it was high pitched and a little crazy sounding.  “You?  Nervous?”

Fred nodded seriously, or as seriously as he could be when he was pretty sure he didn’t have a body anymore.  “Yup,” he confirmed.  “You make me nervous, ’Mione.  Cause I’m kinda really into your stupid, pretty face.”

Hermione stopped laughing, her arms crossing in front of her again, though they were less angry and more anxious.

“Fred, stop,” she said.  “You’re not going to remember any of this.”

“I know,” Fred agreed, closing his eyes as a sudden wave of tiredness hit him.  “So you gotta tell me that I told you, okay?”

Hermione was quiet for so long that he’d forgotten he’d actually asked her something.  He was almost asleep when she finally did, her fingers tracing gently over his face once more.

“Okay.”

*********

_Two Weeks Later_

Fred groaned and reached for the remote, loudly cursing out Ginny or Bill or whoever had left it on the other side of the couch.  Did they not realize he’d almost died saving someone’s life?  Did they not care that he was falling apart?

Unfortunately, his balance kind of sucked, so he ended up toppling on his head instead of actually reaching the remote, and he resigned himself to living in his new home on the floor until someone came to help him back on the couch.

“What are you doing?”

Of course it had to be Hermione.  Not that he didn’t love seeing Hermione, but did she really have to show up at his mum’s house uninvited when he was wearing his ratty Spiderman pyjama pants and an old football t-shirt?

“I couldn’t reach the remote,” he muttered into the carpet, and Hermione laughed.

“I’ll save you,” she promised, and together they managed to maneuver him onto the couch with only minimal bumping of his broken ribs. 

He switched the TV over from the boring nature documentary Charlie had had playing, settling on some reruns of an old sitcom.

Fred tried not to react as Hermione inched closer, and he really wished they could cuddle like she seemed to be heading towards, but her elbow brushed his ribs and he couldn’t keep in the hiss of pain.

“Sorry,” she yelped, jumping away to the unfortunately safe distance of the other end of the couch.

“It’s okay,” Fred said, grimacing.  “So why are you here?  Or did you just come over to beat me up?”

Hermione rolled her eyes.  “Your mum invited me for dinner,” she said.  “Apparently you’ve been a grump and she thought I could cheer you up.”

Fred nodded.  “Makes sense,” he allowed.  “I don’t know why you thought beating me up would be the best way to do that.”

Hermione snorted and tossed a pillow at his face, which he managed to block with his disastrous cast.  He still wasn’t sure why he’d decided it’d be a good idea to give his friends and siblings free range on decorating his casts, but he’d decided to blame it on the fact that he was pretty high on pain killers when he’d agreed to it.  He was just happy that Hermione had managed to hide the dick Ron had drawn with a cat before his mum had seen it and blamed it on him.  Because he was definitely flexible and talented enough to draw a dick on the part of the cast he could barely even see.

They watched a bit of the episode that was on, and Hermione’s feet made their way into his lap where he poked at the cats on her socks with his non-casted hand, feeling smug that she wasn’t allowed to kick him for touching her feet right now.

“Hey,” she said, poking him in the thigh with her toe when the sitcom had faded into commercials.  “Remember when you were in the hospital and you were on a lot of morphine?”

“No.”  Fred glanced over at her, his grin fading as he took her in.  She was glancing down at her lap, pulling at her sweater in the way she normally did when she was nervous.  “I mean, yes, I remember being there, but I don’t actually remember most of it.  Why?”

Hermione shrugged, and Fred could tell she was putting a lot of effort into trying to look casual about it.  “You told me something.”

He groaned, throwing his head back against the couch.  “What did I say?” he asked, then immediately retracted his question.  “No.  I don’t even want to know.  Please don’t tell me.”

Hermione laughed, and poked him in the leg again.  “Okay,” she agreed, turning back to the TV, and the smug look on her face made Fred never want to know what idiotic thing he’d blurted out while high off his ass.

“Thank you,” he sighed, relaxing again, and they settled back in to watch the show.

Hermione made her way across the couch again, settling more carefully against his side, their arms brushing.

She turned after a few minutes, resting her chin on his shoulder.

“Hey, Fred?” 

He offered an acknowledging grunt, keeping himself from turning to look at her and putting their faces a lot closer than she would probably be comfortable with.  She poked him in the cheek with her finger, and her nervous grin was big enough that he could see it from the corner of his eye.

“I’m kinda really into your stupid, pretty face, too.”

Fred's eyes widened, and he whipped his head around to look at her.  Her face ended up being even closer than he'd thought it would be, and it didn't take much for her to close the distance between them to press a quick peck against his shocked lips.

"Just so you know," she added, offering him a sheepish grin before snuggling carefully back into his side.

It took a few minutes for the shock to wear off, because  _holy shit Hermione Granger liked him back and she'd just kissed him_ , but then he was turning to her, tugging her closer with his good arm.

Their lips connected again, and their second kiss was more than just a peck.  Hermione's arms wound around his neck, and Fred hugged her tightly, and it was everything he'd dreamed it would be.  Her lips tasted like strawberry chapstick, and kissing her, holding her like this, it just felt so right.

Until something hit his ribs in the wrong way, and then it just felt painful as hell.

"Sorry," Hermione said, helping him settle back against the couch, but he didn't really care about his ribs, because Hermione looked gorgeous, and her lips were slightly swollen because of  _him_ , he did that.

He grinned at her, pushing her hair behind her ear with his good hand.  "It's all good," he whispered.  "Just so you know, I really like you too."

Hermione laughed, curling carefully back into his side.  "Oh, I know," she told him.  "You told me.  In fact, I'm fairly certain your exact words were that you love me."

Fred, while a little concerned about what other secrets he'd spilled while high on morphine, didn't really feel the need to dispute that, and pressed a kiss to her hair.

"You love me, too," he told her, and she laced their fingers together.

"Yeah," she agreed.  "I do.  But I'll kill you if you ever jump in front of a car again."

Fred laughed.  "Deal."

**Author's Note:**

> This was super fun to write, even though I have no idea how long morphine takes to kick in, so please ignore any medical errors.  
> Hope you enjoyed it!  
> Comments are life and kudos are golden!  
> Come hit me up on Tumblr at probably-voldemort :)


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